


dizzy on the comedown

by gimmeyerbrains



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Not Hockey Player(s), Angst and Humor, Getting Together, Lack of Communication, M/M, Messy Teens failing at life, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 14:17:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11602368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gimmeyerbrains/pseuds/gimmeyerbrains
Summary: The next time Mitch falls in love, he's eighteen. The boy is seventeen, falsely serious with a sly smile and a penchant for ripped jeans. It's steadfast friendship, quiet conversations in hazy smoke filled rooms they're too fucked up to remember, and quick laugher with even faster smiles.He didn't stand a chance from the beginning.(Or, the one where Mitch is a Hot Mess but that doesn't stop him from striving for his fairytale ending.)





	dizzy on the comedown

**Author's Note:**

> The weird high school AU that no one asked for. I can only seem to write self indulgent fic these days. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> \- Mitch is 18 in this fic, Auston is 17.  
> \- I never really mention where they live, and I used a mash up of laws/school system/etc from both canada and the states because research is a fickle bitch. So I hope you enjoy this weird world I created.  
> \- If you're uncomfortable with alcohol use/drug use, you might wanna skip this fic! It happens frequently.  
> \- you can find inspo images I made [here](http://gimmeyerbrains.livejournal.com/348.html)!
> 
> Honestly the tagline for this fic is the shrug emoji, I hope you guys enjoy!

Mitch is fifteen the first time he falls in love. The boy is nineteen, with messy brown hair, expressive eyes, and fast roaming hands. It's a whirlwind of cheap alcohol and sweat, ending in a fiery pit of broken promises and hoarse voices a few months later. 

The day Bryce officially leaves, he walks ten kilometers from his house, carrying a backpack full of polaroids and old clunky video cassette tapes, burning everything in a dumpster behind a dilapidated strip mall with matches he found in the junk drawer and lighter fluid from the old barbecue grill. He simultaneously vows to never be _that_ guy again. 

The next time Mitch falls in love, he's eighteen. The boy is seventeen, falsely serious with a sly smile and a penchant for ripped jeans. It's steadfast friendship, quiet conversations in hazy smoke filled rooms they're too fucked up to remember, and quick laugher with even faster smiles.

He didn't stand a chance from the beginning.

-

Mitch is leaning against a tree in the quad during lunch, half heartedly listening to the kids from his fourth period art class - a class he's only taking because photography was full and his shitty public school is too lame to offer a film class - drone on about the upcoming project they have when he sees him. 

He happens to turn his head slightly to the right, trying to get the sun reflecting off a head of golden blonde hair out of his eyes, and there he is. _Auston_. 

He's laughing at something the kid next to him said, before turning and talking animatedly to the person across the table from him. He's only been here for a couple months, but he's already well blended into the group of students that sit crowded around the table by the concrete stairs that lead back into the school, stairs that they frequently get caught trying to do tricks on with skateboards by faculty. 

Like every high school those trite teen movies’ feature, his seems to be just as big on cliques. After the first one and a half disastrous years of his high school career, he's been more of an outsider, always just floating around to different groups, gravitating to the girls with sharp eyebrows and high heeled boots who only wanna use him as a sounding board for their feminist films, the boys with sleepy eyes and killer smiles who never ask for anything in return. 

Despite the fact that he's well liked by ninety percent of the student body; enough to be voted prom king, not as a joke either, much to his surprise, and have crumpled up invitations to every party happening shoved in his locker for him to find, he never put much effort in the people around him. It was almost like he'd been treading through life underwater, everything jaded and dull, until Auston came along.

-

(He remembers Auston’s first day at school even better than his own. How Auston came strolling in behind the principal at 9:15 AM, how he stood in the doorway without a trace of awkwardness or nerves, like he dared anyone to say he didn’t belong here, anywhere. 

He was wearing a black v-neck, black jeans that had holes in the knees from wear, and a notebook in his hands that had a mash-up of stickers from bands and skateboard brands covering it. 

Mitch doesn’t remember much from the actual class, just the way Auston’s hand kept brushing hair out of his face after he looked up from copying something down, the way he smiled at the girl next to him who welcomed him to their school. 

It only took him until the end of the day to find out the info he wanted.

Auston Matthews. Freshly seventeen. American. Family moved here for dad’s job. Likes skateboarding, Arizona Mucho Mango, and pop punk music with the occasional rap song thrown in.)

-

He quietly excuses himself from the group and walks across the quad to the crowded table. Auston immediately looks up and sees him coming, like he’s been low-key aware of Mitch this whole time, just waiting for him to finally make his way over. A small grin spreads across his face. Mitch knows the answering smile on his face is a lot more telling, a lot more stupid. He gave up ‘subtle’ a month into knowing Auston. It was a lot more fun to flirt and watch the slight blush bloom across Auston’s cheeks, anyway. 

He slides into the space Auston made for him while he was walking over. Or really, just shoved one of his friends off the bench and out of the way. Mitch looks over at him and nods his head. 

“Hey.” he says quietly, and he knows the stupid fond smile from earlier is still stretched across his face. 

“Having fun over there with all your emo art friends?” Auston questions, shit eating grin firmly in place. 

“Shut the fuck up, man,” he replies easily, smile unwavering. “Just be lucky I graced you with my presence.” Auston laughs, shaking his head, and turns back to the conversation he was having before Mitch got here. 

“So what’s happening tonight?” he asks. He addresses it to the table, but he’s still looking at Auston. Though that’s really unsurprising, when is he _not_ looking at him, and he thinks everyone is probably used to it by now too, judging by the way they answer without a pause.

Mitch is pretty sure the kid who answers name is Zach, but he could be wrong, there’s so many of them and almost all of them use nicknames that he has trouble remembering, unless he’s drunk. Which, that should tell you right there how much of a Mess with a capital _M_ his life is. 

“Party at my house.”

“Nice, I’ll be there.”

“Ha, who said you were even invited?” Zach huffs, making pointed eye contact with him when Mitch finally stops being a creep and looks over at him. 

The curly haired kid sitting next to him cuts in with, “Yeah, you never even hung around with us until this asshole came along.” pointing over in Auston’s direction. 

Auston looks over and opens his mouth to protest, but Mitch barrels on. “Am I not?”

“No, you are,” Zach shakes his head, like he shouldn’t have to be explaining this. “Just bring beer or some shit.”

Mitch smiles at him and nods, happy to spend the rest of their lunch period watching Auston fuck around with his friends.

-

Later that night, he finds himself walking down Main Street. Muscle memory taking him to the convenience store Auston works at four days a week, even though he knows he isn’t working right now. 

The store is shining like a beacon in the dark from the fluorescent lights, yellow glow illuminating the cracked sidewalk. The bell chimes over his head as he walks in, the grimey stickers on the windows advertising three for a dollar off-brand energy drinks and combo meals for day old hot dogs. 

He walks to the back of the deserted store, fingers trailing over the handles of each refrigerator door. The light panel above the beer always flickers, no matter the time of day, like an ominous warning or something. He grabs a 30 pack of Laker and starts to make his way to the counter, before doubling back to grab a king size pack of skittles. 

The girl behind the counter finally lowers the magazine she’s reading when he comes up and sets down his things, clearing his throat. “Can I get that bottle of Evan Williams black label, bottom shelf?” he asks, pointing at the wall of booze behind her.

She rolls her eyes, but stands to grab the whiskey. 

“Anything else?” she asks, as she starts ringing him up. Mitch goes to shake his head before his eyes get caught on the display of maps and other road trip necessities. Mostly on the row of disposable cameras, though. 

He's has been into cinematography for as long as he can remember. He remembers being seven years old and begging his mom to let him use her old digital camera when she got a new one for christmas. He spent months filming anything that happened, much to chagrin of his family. The love of photography came later on, after watching a documentary about his favorite filmmaker and how he started out in dark rooms with an old film camera. Remembers being thirteen and being gifted his first film camera after he spent months going on about integrity and how it’d make him a better filmmaker later on in life. It’s also the reason he works at the video store on Fifth Avenue, despite the shitty pay and the fact that almost no one comes in, and those who do are usually old and don’t know how to use Netflix. 

He walks over to the display and pulls one down before walking back and tossing it on the counter. “This is it.” 

She scans the camera and looks up at him, eyebrows raised. “ID?” 

Mitch smiles and pulls out his wallet, holding out his ID for her to see. It's obviously fake to anyone who seriously looks at it. His brother had given it to him when he got a new one before he left for college, and despite the blood relation, they don't look that much alike. 

She barely glances at it. “$47.95” 

He tosses a few crumpled bills down before gathering the purchases she bagged. He turns over his shoulder to say “have a nice day” as he’s walking out the door, but she’s already engrossed into her magazine again. 

By the time he reaches Zach’s house, his right arm carrying the beer feels like it’s gonna fall off from the cold but the cheers he gets from the kids standing around the porch make him laugh, quickly easing the pain. 

He smiles and nods hello to the few people he knows as he comes in, tries not to be knocked off balance by the rough shoves of excitement by people for bringing more alcohol. 

Mitch pushes his way through the party, into the kitchen. Zach’s parties are always rowdy, mostly because he lives in a shittier part of town, where most of his neighbors are either also partying or mind their own business as long as the kids stay off their property. 

He finds Auston, Zach, and a few other guys gathered in the kitchen, counters overflowing with different bottles of cheap hard liquor and chasers. Some girls he recognizes from school are also in the kitchen, pouring something into a red solo cup, in turn causing the boys to laugh at them. 

Auston is the first person to notice Mitch’s arrival. He reaches over to help him with paper sack he’s also carrying, a smile instantly overtaking his face. “You made it.” 

“Said I would, didn’t I?” Mitch grunts, reaching up to set the beer on counter. One of the other guys he doesn't know comes over, smacking Mitch on the back in greeting, and then starts to shove the cans in the fridge. 

He walks over to where Auston is still pulling things out of the paper bag, eyebrows inching further up his forehead as he pulls out each item. Mitch bumps their shoulders together, smiling softly over at him. 

Auston picks up the camera, rips open the packaging, before bringing it up to his face like he’s taking a picture. “What’s this?” he laughs, as Mitch tries to dodge and grab at it simultaneously. “I don’t really think it’s fair that you’re always taking pictures and filming other people, but never let people do it back.” 

“Why would I take pictures of myself when you’re the better subject?” he asks, successfully wrestling the camera out of Auston’s grasp. 

Mitch makes sure to take a picture of the adorable pout on Auston’s face.

-

(A week later, when he finally gets the photos developed, he isn’t surprised to find they’re all of Auston. Various facial expressions and activities, different people in the background, but he’s _always_ the focal point. 

The best one, he thinks, is the picture with both of them sitting out on the roof, party raging down below. Auston has his head thrown back mid laugh, whiskey bottle dangling from his fingers. And Mitch is looking over at him, like he's the best thing he's ever seen.)

-

The weekdays blend together with school, work, and then more school again. The few stolen moments he gets of Auston outside of school are usually when he takes breaks to walk over to the store to buy skittles and cigarettes, just for an excuse to be around him for awhile.

He used to come in and just sit here for hours, keeping Auston company in between customers. But it turns out the signs for twenty-four-hour surveillance aren’t just a way to make people think twice before stealing, considering the way Auston’s boss stomped in one day to chew them out that he wasn’t gonna let hooligans loiter around his business if they weren’t gonna buy anything. 

On Friday afternoon, he finds Auston leaning against his locker. He’s wearing a black hoodie, a backwards Trasher snapback, and his phone is in hand with earbuds in. He walks up as quietly as he can, until he’s toe to toe with him. 

Auston finally looks up at him, pulling the buds out of his ears. Mitch’s eyes are drawn to the hair curling out from underneath his hat. One of his favorite things about Auston is how it always looks like his hair is trying to escape from whatever headwear he shoved on it in the morning. 

“So, what brings you to my neck of the woods?” Mitch asks, gently moving Auston out of the way to get to his locker. 

“We’re going to the skate park later, you in?”

Mitch sighs and pretends to think about it, causing the boy next to him to shuffle nervously. “I guess I could fit it into my extremely busy schedule.” 

Auston’s smile rivals the afternoon sunshine in that moment, any nerves he had a minute ago bleeding out of his body. 

“I’ll meet you there though, I wanna stop by my house and get my other camera.” 

“One day I'll get you on a skateboard.”

“If you want that to be the day I die, sure.” Mitch replies, continuing to shove the shit he didn't need over the weekend in his locker. 

“Such a drama queen.” Auston tuts, shaking his head. “Maybe you should be an actor, instead of behind the camera.” 

He glares down at the textbook in his hand. “Then who would film all your friends dumb skate videos for YouTube?”

He sees Auston raise his hands in surrender out of the corner of his eye.

“Ours, by the way.” 

“Ours what?” Mitch asks, finally looking over to find Auston grinning at him. 

“Our friends, dumbass. Not just mine.”

The warm rush of butterflies in his stomach make it hard to breath for a moment, long enough for Auston to shake his head, still smiling, and start to walk away.

He only gets about five lockers down before he turns back around to look at Mitch, who's still standing there, staring like an idiot. “See you in a few hours.”

He's really glad Auston has already turned around again so he doesn't see the dorky wave thing he does in return. 

-

When Mitch finally arrives at the skatepark, it's late in the afternoon. The last few hours of sunlight making everything seem brighter and more idyllic. There's a few guys he recognizes from hanging around Auston chilling out by one of the ramps, beers in hand, while watching a kid try to do a trick but ultimately bust his ass. 

He walks up to the one he remembers best, pretty sure that he was Zach's party last week, and bumps fists with him in greeting.

“You know where Matts is?” he asks, scanning the surrounding area. 

“Smoke couch.” The guy points to the wooded area just behind the park. 

Mitch replies with a quick “thanks man” before starting the trek. The smoke couch is an old couch they found sitting outside someone's house one summer afternoon while they were walking around town looking for something to do. They ended up borrowing a truck from someone's cousin to move it and after bouncing around to a few houses, it ended up here as a place to chill and smoke up, hence the name. 

He winds his way through the last few trees, already able to make out the back of more familiar heads. This ginger kid he's been going to school with since, like, second grade who's named Brownie, or at least that's what Mitch has only ever called him, is the first to notice him coming. He starts moving like he's gonna wave at him, but Mitch quickly shakes his head and makes a shushing motion. Brownie rolls his eyes, even though he should be used to Mitch's bullshit by now, thankfully he soon has better things to do when the joint that's being passed around is handed back to him.

Mitch quietly walks up to the back of the stupid head he could pick out of a lineup and cups his hands over their eyes. He feels Auston tense up momentarily, before he tips his head over the back of the couch and stares up at Mitch. He catalogs Auston's face, the way his eyes are a little bit bloodshot, the dopey grin he has plastered on. 

Realizing that his hands are still hovering in the air, he brings them forward to cup Auston's jaw. He gently taps his cheek a few times with his thumb while leaning closer to his face. 

“What's up, Stonehenge?” 

Auston laughs at the nickname, reaching up with his left hand to tug on Mitch's shirt. “Come over here.” His voice sounds rougher than usual, like he's been coughing. 

He walks around the couch to sit at the only empty spot left on the opposite side but is swiftly pulled in by an arm around his waist so he's half sitting on the armrest and Auston's lap. The arm tightens around him, tucking him closer into Auston's side and more firmly on his lap. 

Mitch tries to calm his frantically beating heart so he doesn't have a heart attack at eighteen, like he does every time Auston gets like this. He always thought he was the one with a problem understanding personal space but that flew out the window the first time he hung out with Auston after he smoked, it was like an octopus had a baby with a sloth and this is what came of it. 

Once he's calmed down enough to be aware of his surroundings, he finds Auston's fingers softly brushing at the bare skin where his shirt rode up while he's in what sounds like a deep discussion about merit of a brand of skateboard wheels. 

He settles closer to Auston, resting his head in the small space between his shoulder and neck, and let's the voices wash over him. The vibrations of Auston speaking relaxing him while he absentmindedly fiddled with his camera’s strap. 

Mitch loses track of how long they all sit there and talk, every once in awhile Auston would look over at him and ask him questions, like his opinion on a video this dude put on YouTube, or his opinion on different boards, even though Mitch knows next to nothing about the technical side of skateboarding besides shit he's picked up from Auston. 

Eventually, the boys all get restless and go skate, leaving Mitch to sit on the cement bench back in the park to watch them. He used to hate coming here with them, since he wasn't really interested in ever getting on a skateboard. He felt like the boyfriend on a girl’s shopping trip, except with guys, no boyfriend, despite _everyone_ giving him and Auston shit about how coupley they acted, and a situation that's infinitely more high school.

He doesn't mind it so much anymore, he gets to see Auston, the biggest plus for him if he's being honest, and now that he actually knows the guys better, now that they include him more, it can actually be fun. Despite the shit he gives them about how he's not their personal cameraman for their shitty YouTube channels, filming their dumb stunts is actually kinda fun for him. 

When the sun finally starts fading, the brightness from earlier fading into swirls of pinks and oranges, all the guys gather around a case of beer, yelling over each other and fucking around. 

Auston's sitting to his left, a warm heat pressed against his side. He smells like sweat and cheap beer with slight undertones of his body wash and whatever laundry soap his family uses. Objectively it sounds like a terrible smell, but Mitch has to dig his nails into his pant leg to stop himself from burying his face into Auston's neck again and inhaling, maybe if he was really brave, licking the stripe of sweat that's dripping down his neck from his damp hairline. 

He's nursing his beer and messing with the settings on his camera, not trusting himself to blurt something embarrassing if he opens his mouth, when he feels somebody watching him. 

Mitch looks up to find Auston staring at him, raising his eyebrows when they make eye contact. 

“Haven't pointed that thing at me once today, am I not pretty enough for you anymore?” Auston asks, bringing his beer up to take a sip.

“You're a fucking idiot.” Which isn't exactly what he wanted to say, but at least it's not something dumb like _you're beautiful to me no matter what_ or _I'd spend the rest of my life looking at you if I could_. He'll take what he can get. 

Auston mocks being wounded, a silly smile playing at his lips. The sun is hitting him perfectly from behind, causing a halo effect around him, the light making his eyes look like the whiskey they got drunk off of last weekend.

Mitch is pressing the red record button before he even realizes it, Auston's smile turning sweeter around the edges.

“That's better.” Auston says gently, around another sip of beer. 

-

(Mitch probably has hundreds, maybe even thousands, of hours of footage with Auston doing different shit. Not even big important stuff, just small things like him scribbling down homework in a notebook or replacing the trucks on his board in his backyard. 

He has a lot of Auston's hands, too. Motioning while he talks, spinning a screwdriver, flicking a lighter while holding a pipe in the other. 

He'll sit in his room for ages, at his cramped desk on his MacBook Pro and scrub through it over and over again, trying to pick out his favorite moments, his favorite facial expressions. He usually gives up playing favorites about an hour or so in, once he realizes that everything Auston does is his favorite thing in that moment. 

The point is, he’s so fucking in love with him, as scary as that is.)

-

Weeks pass by in a jumbled blur, like he's pressing fast forward on the fastest setting, only pressing play when he's with Auston or fucking around in his editing software. He's been piecing together a short film, something artsy and experimental that screams “I take myself too seriously” but it'll look good in his portfolio for colleges.

They all spend the weekends getting drunk off cheap vodka in Zach's basement. Auston and him curled up together on the couch, punk music blaring from shitty speakers. 

Mitch films every single moment, going home every night and importing it, reliving it, obsessing over it.

His favorite so far is the short jerky clip of them at the skatepark again. It's freezing outside so they're bundled up in jackets, flannels, and toques. 

Mitch is holding the camera out in front of him while he sits on Auston's skateboard. Auston is behind him, pushing him with hands on his shoulders. Both of them laughing and looking so fucking happy.

It feels fragile, like it's the turning point of their relationship. The fork in the road. The stunning revelation in every shitty chick flick where the hero realizes he's hopelessly in love and chases after the girl he let get away. 

-

Thursday afternoon finds Mitch sitting on the dumpsters behind the school, trying to fix a camera he bought at a thrift shop, a half smoked cigarette hanging out of his mouth when Auston and his friends join him. They all have skateboards under their feet, definitely against school policy, but Mitch really has no room to talk considering this has been his go to smoke spot since he figured out no one ever comes back here in tenth grade.

He briefly glances up, lips ticking up slightly around his cigarette when he locks eyes with Auston. “What’s up?” he mumbles, when Auston jumps up to sit next to him, resting his board behind him to pillow his head when he lays back on the lid. 

“You know that dealer kid? The one in my second period?” Auston asks, looking over at him. 

He plucks the cigarette from his mouth. “Yeah, he unironically listens ICP and took a shit on Mr. Johnson’s desk in ninth grade, kinda hard to forget someone after that.” he replies, exhaling smoke around the words. Brownie, who was trying to do a kickflip a few feet away, falls over cackling. “Fuck! I forgot about that!” 

“How could you forget? That was probably the most exciting thing to ever happen to this fucking place.” Mitch laughs.

Auston fondly shakes his head at them. “Well, he got busted with weed during lunch so we decided to fuck off because Zach has a few joints on him.” 

“And here I thought you just missed me.” 

“You know I always miss you, Mitch.” Auston replies, blatantly ignoring the kissy noises coming from Brownie, who’s still sprawled out on the ground by them. 

Mitch rolls his eyes, tamping down on the smile threatening to break free and returns his focus to the camera in his hand, lighting another cigarette when he finds his first one is all filter. Sometimes he's still surprised how content he feels listening to Auston’s friends fuck around, the slight breeze in the air and shade from the gym making the abnormally hot day more comfortable. He never thought he’d get easy camaraderie again, not after that whole clusterfuck with Bryce. 

He keeps getting distracted watching Auston fiddle around with his phone, the way his long fingers fly across the screen. He’s nine thoughts deep in a spiral of thinking about all the times those giant hands have been on his body, when his phone buzzing in his pocket startles him. He pulls it and finds a text from Auston, quickly glancing over his shoulder to find the person in question very focused on whatever he’s doing on his phone.

> **Auston, 12:10 PM:** come over after skool?  
>  **Mitch, 12:11 PM:** if I have to  (Face Screaming In Fear )

The next time Mitch looks over his shoulder, it's to find Auston smiling softly at him. 

-

Auston's room looks exactly like it did last time he was here. Clothes scattered all over the floor, laundry baskets full of what he can never decide is clean or dirty. On the third row of his bookshelf is a bible that's had its pages cut out to hide weed and rolling papers, a bottle of tequila stashed under his bed. 

Mitch catapults himself onto the messy bed and starfishes out. He'd never admit it to anyone, can barely admit it himself, but he loves trying to make everything Auston owns smell like him. That he hopes the way he smells is jerk off material like Auston’s scent is for him. 

Auston rolls his eyes but is still smiling as he closes the door so he counts it as a win. “Such a puppy.” 

Mitch chuckles and blindly flips him off. He feels the side of the bed dip when Auston sits down, hears him digging around in the side table drawer for his pipe. 

Somehow they end up sitting across from each other on the bed, legs crossed, trading the pipe back and forth. Mitch usually isn't one for weed, definitely would rather get black-out-fall-down drunk than high, but he makes exceptions for Auston. He loves how cuddly he gets, how dorky he becomes.

After they kill about two bowls, Mitch’s stupidity takes over. That's only explanation for why his next word is: 

“Shotgun?” 

His heart pounding in his chest as he watches Auston take a hit. The way his cheeks hollow out makes his jawline look ten times more lickable. He's spent a thousand nights with his right hand since he's known him, jerking off to the idea of leaving hickeys all over that jaw.

Auston locks eyes with him, and just stares. Mitch is getting ready to backpedal, ignoring the way his heart is still thrashing around, but Auston starts slowly leaning forward before he can. Mitch is clearly so, _so_ high. He refuses to believe he'd make that sound, a choked off gasp, sober. 

Auston keeps moving forward until Mitch can almost feel their bottom lips touch, the chocolatey caramel of his eyes even more mesmerizing this close. The tangy smell of sweat and weed surrounding him. He suddenly can't breathe, he's dreamed about this moment a million times, what it'd be like to finally kiss him. And this isn't at all what he pictured, for one Auston would be kissing him because he really wanted to, and for two it'd be an actual fucking kiss, not whatever this is. He'll selfishly take this, though. 

He can feel his eyelids starting to droop, until he's looking at Auston through his lashes, when Auston suddenly veers off course, coughing on a cloud of smoke. “Fuck,” he laughs, tears leaking out of his hazy eyes. He looks up at Mitch from where he's landed beside him. “I couldn't hold it any longer.” 

His hair is a mess, his shirt has ridden up showing a strip of tanned stomach, and he's fucking smiling, this goofy ass smile, and Mitch has never wanted anything more in his life.

“Whatever you say, chicken.” Mitch jokes, clucking loudly and annoying as he can get. The indignant look on his face shouldn't be as cute as it is. 

He's just starting to make a chicken wing with his arms when Auston lunges up and shoves him backwards, causing him to tumble off the bed. He can hear Auston laughing as he hits the floor with a startled squawk. 

Mitch turns, sprawling out on the floor and listens to his laugh slowly die out, the sounds of him taking another hit. After the silence has settled around them, he quietly says, “Hey, Auston,” while he stares up at the ceiling. The fading sunlight streaming through the window making the white walls color with bursts of orange and yellow. 

“Yeah?” Auston replies, just as quietly as Mitch. Like he can tell this is something serious. 

“Go out with me.” 

“Okay.”

-

That night he gets two text messages.

> **Auston, 11:52 PM:** tmmrw? after work  
>  **Auston, 11:53 PM:** gna b d best date of ur life

-

(The first time Mitch and Auston actually had a conversation was at the counter of that shitty convenience store Auston works at. 

It was his third day on the job and Mitch just got done pouring his heart out to a unsympathetic Matt about his hallmark movie crush on the new kid slash his possible soulmate, and decided the only way to rectify his terrible life was to get as drunk as possible off twenty dollars on a Wednesday night. Definitely not his brightest moment. Or, maybe it was, considering it got him Auston.

Mitch walked in the doors and there he was, just sitting at the counter. He looked up and smiled, genuine and unassuming, like he wasn't invading Mitch’s previously dingy world with technicolor.

His first words were: “Hey, you're Mitch, right? We go to the same school.”)

-

Mitch is sitting on the curb, picking at the dirt under his fingernail while he waits for Auston to get off work, an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips. He hears the door jingle behind him, before Auston drops down beside him. He has his shitty work polo still on, name tag clipped on upside down, and he's carrying a can of Mucho Mango and a pack of skittles.

Mitch digs around in his jacket pocket for a lighter, finally lighting the cigarette when he finds one. He reaches over and taps the can with lighter. 

“What number is this?” he asks, voice coming out hoarse from exhaling smoke. 

Auston holds up the skittles and motions for the cigarette. “Trade you.” 

Mitch shakes his head but hands it over, taking the skittles, tearing the sleeve open with his teeth and shaking a few into his mouth. 

He watches Auston bring the cigarette up to his lips, inhaling, before scrunching up his face and coughing. He starts shaking his head, disgusted face still firmly in place, blindly handing the cigarette back over. 

“How can you smoke that shit? Fuckin’ nasty.” he finally gets out once he's finished coughing, popping the tab on his drink and taking a long sip. 

“That's rich, coming from the biggest pothead I know.” 

“I can't be the biggest pothead you know, also you smoked with me last night.” 

“That's true. But only because I have to be impaired in some way to hang out with your stupid ass.” 

Auston laughs, reaching over to steal a few red skittles. “Thought you loved when I gave you shit.” 

Mitch shakes his head, grinding out the cigarette on the ground next to him after he's finished. “Are we gonna sit on the curb outside your work all night?” He asks, looking over at Auston. “Thought you were gonna wine n’ dine me.” 

“Sixty-nine you, maybe.” The smile on Auston's face is lethal, cocky and perfect. Mitch can feel the blush spreading across his face, down his neck. If he hadn't just smoked, he'd light up again just to calm his nerves, something to do with hands that wasn't mauling the asshole sitting next to him, still looking at him with that stupid fucking smile, in a dirty parking lot.

He jumps to his feet, reaching down for Auston's hand to help pull him up. “C’mon you fuck, you promised me the greatest date of my life.” 

They walk back to Auston's house, constantly bumping shoulders because of how close they're walking. Mitch listens to Auston talk about this crazy old dude who came in, they have to stop once because he can't stop laughing when he tries to mimic the man's actions. 

He's left in the kitchen with Auston's mom when they get to the house so Auston can run upstairs and change. Mitch doesn't mind it so much, it's better than being left with his dad, who he's maybe had two conversations with the entire time he's known Auston. It's way better than being left with his sister, who usually just stares at him while he rambles on and on trying to fill the awkwardness. 

Thankfully for him, she seems to be fine with boring small talk and gaps of semi-comfortable silence while he waits for Auston. Mitch doesn't know what they're doing anyway, just that it required Auston to have to borrow his mom's car.

Thirty minutes pass, and finally Auston comes clomping down the stairs, freshly showered, hair drying fluffy on top of his head. He's wearing black jeans that must not be worn very much considering the lack of holes and stains, and a burgundy raglan shirt with black sleeves that looks slightly too small for him, sticking to him where his body is still damp. 

If this was a cartoon, his jaw would be on the floor and giant red hearts would be shooting out of his eyes, he's almost sure of it.

“Trying to make me look bad?” Mitch asks, plucking at his white v neck, figuring it's the safest thing he can say. 

Auston shakes his head, slight smile on his face. “It's good?”

“Yeah. I guess you're okay. I'll be seen with you out in public.” 

Auston's mom laughs from the kitchen, causing him to mock glare at Mitch. 

“You're gonna regret that when you see where we're going.” Auston sighs, grabbing Mitch's hand to pull him off the bar stool and outside. 

-

An hour and a half later, Auston pulls in the parking lot of a small theater. Mitch can tell it's obviously old, mostly forgotten about with the new mega Cineplex that they drove by earlier.

Mitch looks over at Auston, who's now fiddling with the keys he pulled out of the ignition after parking. When he finally looks up, he has a small smile on his face. 

“So they have like, two movies and they're both in black and white.” Auston begins quietly. He sounds almost shy, a word Mitch has never associated with him. “One's a slasher movie and the other is some movie with no words, or something. So I figured we'd see the scary one, but it’s up to you.”

Mitch nods his head. Auston refuses to make eye contact with him, his left hand is still messing with the keys, right leg bouncing. “The slasher flick is fine.”

Auston instantly stills and finally meets his eyes briefly, smiling at him, nodding his head to the entrance, a silent question. 

Mitch feels like he's three seconds away from throwing up his heart and other miscellaneous important organs when Auston grabs his hand and laces their fingers together while they wait in line. 

He can hear the steady cadence of Auston speaking beside him but he can barely hear it over the steady boom-boom-boom of his heart. He settles for looking over at him, like he's paying attention, but really he's entranced by the way Auston looks like he's about ready to explode with pent up nerves and happiness, like being on a shitty movie date with some jackass - i.e. Mitch - is the most amazing thing ever.

After they buy their tickets - Auston requesting “two for the one with words, please.” - Mitch is pulled into the lobby by the slightly sweaty hand encasing his. He manages to pays for the popcorn and soda, even though Auston tries to wrestle him at the register for his wallet like an uncivilized freak.

When they finally fall into their creaky seats in the very back row, Mitch feels like his brain finally comes back online. He's on an actual date with Auston fucking Matthews, the boy he's been crushing on since the second he saw him. The smile that overtakes his face is probably the lamest, goofiest, dumbest thing ever, but he just hopes it's dark enough that Auston won't be able to see it in its full stupid glory. 

The movie goes by way slower than Mitch was expecting, with the way Auston kept lightly rubbing his palm on his thigh, brushing his thumb on the inseam every third stroke. 

The only thing that kept him from getting hard was the fact that someone got hacked to pieces in a bloody corn syrup mess every two minutes on screen. Mitch wanted to kiss him a million times during the movie, especially when he'd lean over and whisper something in Mitch's ear, brushing his nose against it when he pulled back. 

-

They end up sitting on a bench outside of the theater, Auston eating the remaining popcorn. 

“You're lucky I've seen that movie before.” Mitch grumbles, absently rubbing at his bare arms to keep his hands occupied. 

“Why?” Auston asks, looking over at him. He's chewing with his mouth wide open, and Mitch really shouldn't find it as attractive as he does, probably. 

“You're the most distracting person I've ever watched a movie with, and I used to watch movies with my brother who'd ask what was happening every two seconds.” 

Auston smiles, shrugging and goes back to happily munching. When he's finished, he crumples the bag up in a ball, stands, and tosses it like a pitcher across the parking lot. He looks over his shoulder to grin at Mitch before plopping down almost on top of him.

“You had fun, right?” Auston asks, suddenly serious.

“I guess.” he says quietly, trying not to ruin the mood. “Maybe not the best date ever, might have to try again.” 

The way Auston is looking at him makes him feel lightheaded, his attention focused solely on Mitch, their heads so close together he'd barely have to incline his head and their lips would be touching. 

“Another date, huh? I did promise you the best date of your life.”

Mitch watches Auston's mouth form syllables, not even pretending to pay attention anymore. He finishes the sentence by lightly scraping his teeth over his bottom lip, and he has to know what that does to Mitch because his lips slightly tick up afterwards, like murdering him is an amusing pastime. 

“Definitely did promise that.” he mumbles. 

Auston hums in agreement, bringing his hand up to rest on the back of Mitch's neck. “Gonna kiss you. For real now.”

Mitch nods his head, still staring at Auston's lips, watching them close that small gap between them and crashing into his. Their teeth clack together, Auston starts to move back to realign, but Mitch quickly grabs at his shirt to keep him still. 

Mitch turns his whole body into it, getting his knees underneath him to lean up, untangling his right hand to move it up, squeezing at Auston’s forearm. He brings his left hand up, digging his fingers into the hair at the nape of Auston's neck. 

The kiss turns more heated, Mitch is basically sucking Auston's tongue into his mouth. Auston tugging at him until he's straddling him on a public bench, moviegoers still trickling out the front doors. 

Auston’s the first one to pull back, his breath coming out in thick pants. One of his hands is in Mitch's hair, the other on his thigh, right before it reaches his ass. 

Mitch is more than happy to keep kissing him, breathing seems monumentally boring compared to this, It was hard enough not to maul Auston before, but the second their lips touched, he knew he was fucked. He'll never forget the way he tastes, the quiet sounds he makes in the back of his throat when Mitch does something he likes, how his lashes flutter across his cheeks when Mitch bites his bottom lip and tugs. 

He kisses down the side of his face, down his neck, sucking hickeys sloppily into the skin there as he goes. The hand in Mitch's hair tightens painfully, but instead of stopping, he just bites down roughly in the middle of the mark he was working on. 

He can't help the slight smirk when Auston groans and bucks his hips up, soothing his tongue over the bite mark before scraping his teeth across it. 

“Shit, Mitch. You have to stop. There's a little kid staring at us.” Auston moans, grabbing at the back of Mitch's shirt to pull him off. 

He finally detaches his mouth from Auston's neck to look over shoulder to find a kid, probably six or seven years old, standing in the parking lot. His mouth is hanging open, popsicle melting down his sticky gross hand, staring while he waits for his distracted parent to finish loading up the other kid into the car. 

Mitch snorts, bringing his hand up to wave. He turns back to Auston, who has his head resting against the wall, still breathing like he ran a marathon, looking up at him in dazed amusement. 

“Who brings a kid that little to a theater like this anyway? Watching us was probably a better show than whatever his parents brought him too.”

All he gets in response is a roll of dilated eyes and a head shake. 

-

(After the date, Mitch doesn't know what he expects. Definitely a call. Or even a fucking text. He'd even take a one word reply to all the texts he's sent. He'd probably cry in fucking joy if he got a single ‘k.’ back, an accidental ass dial, anything. When the weekend passes by with complete radio silence from Auston, he gets the point loud and clear. This isn't his first rodeo. 

The first day back at school still feels like a rude wake up call, an ice cold bucket of water thrown in his face. Auston expertly dodges him the whole day, even voluntarily hanging back to talk to his least favorite teacher because he knows Mitch is waiting for him outside. It feels like he jumped out of a plane expecting to land safely at the bottom, except when he pulls his cord he finds out there's no parachute. Just a free fall to his inevitable death, or in this case, a broken heart. 

By the time two weeks pass, he's gone from confused to extremely pissed off that their friendship didn't even warrant an in person brush off, didn't matter enough to Auston for him to just tell Mitch he wasn't interested in him like that, or, or, that they just weren’t gonna work out or whatever cliche bullshit excuse goes along with ghosting on your best friend after the greatest date of his life.

Even with the totally deserved anger, he still feels like breaking down and apologizing for whatever he did that made Auston not want him. It's unbearably hard during the weekdays, Auston constantly ignoring Mitch in hallways and pointedly leaving whenever one of the guys call him over. Watching the marks he carefully sucked into Auston's skin from afar fade until there's no evidence that that night even happened at all. 

The hardest part, though, is the torture Mitch puts himself through. 

He knows that getting wasted and watching videos of the guy who broke your heart, especially ones where you both look so fucking happy and alive together, is really dumb. He knows that staring at the one sided text thread all night isn't going to magically help him figure out where it all went wrong. He knows because he's done this before, had promised himself he'd never be back here again. He does it all anyway.

He read somewhere once that misery and heartbreak is supposed to be the chicken noodle soup for an artist’s starving soul, or some stupid shit like that. But every time Auston's voice floats through the speakers, he feels like he's going to cry or beat the shit out of something, maybe both at the same time. And every time he watches Auston's dumb fucking fond face look at him behind the camera, he can almost convince himself that this is all a fucked up dream he'll wake up from.)

-

On Thursday, Brownie passes him a note during their English class about a beach party two towns over, offering a ride. Well, it reads like an offer, but Mitch knows it isn't. He has to pause for a moment, Auston's absence in his life becoming startlingly apparent, which is amazing, considering it's all he can fucking think about. He would usually be the one to coordinate this stuff with Mitch, mostly because they were together all the time anyway; a package deal. It's been exactly four weeks since their date, aka the worst day of his life, and the rolling anger he was running on is starting to simmer down into bleak sadness again. 

He stares at the note for another few seconds, before he eventually crumbles it up in his hand and goes back to writing down their assignment, paying close attention to the ticking clock on the wall, already gathering the stuff he won't need for the rest of the period into an easy to grab pile so he can be the first one out. 

The second the bell rings he's up and out the door before Mr. Stafford is even finished talking. He gets halfway down the hall before he's jerked back by a hand on his shoulder. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, dude. You that excited to get to math?” Brownie huffs out, bending over to rest his hands on his knees to catch his breath. 

“Yeah, it became my favorite class when I found out it was the only one I didn't share with you losers.”

Brownie snorts, stretching to his full height. “Just because Auston is being a prick doesn't mean you get to take it out on me. What ever happened to bros before hos?”

“We're bros now?” Mitch asks, raising his eyebrows. A habit he picked up from Auston. 

“Uhh, yeah, asshole. We've known each other since we were, like, five. I remember you crying when orange juice came out your nose during lunch in fourth grade.” 

Mitch shudders in memory. “Fine, bros. What do you want?”

“You're gonna stop being a sad sack of shit and come with me to that party.” He raises a hand to stop Mitch's protest. “And before you be a bitch about it, Auston isn't gonna be there. He has some family thing.”

Mitch sighs, dropping his head back to stare at the ceiling. On one hand he hasn't done anything but work, go to school, and sit in his room like an emo freak watching old videos and drink cheap warm whiskey while chain smoking his lungs to a blackened crisp, so going out and being around people would be nice. Getting drunk would definitely be fun. Ideal for him, even, considering it might make him forget about Auston for a little while. But on the other hand, he doesn't want to become that depressed drunk that everyone hates because they ruin the “vibe” and he definitely doesn't want to possibly cry in front of assholes who'd probably make fun of him. 

He opens his mouth to respond, but finds Brownie already walking away from him. 

“Hey! What about my answer?” he yells at the retreating back, causing people in the halls to stare at him. 

Brownie turns around and laughs like his response was a hilarious joke or something. “It's not optional, dipshit. Saturday, I'll pick you up at 8.”

-

He should have known the party was gonna be a disaster considering the conversation that lead to him coming to this stupid thing made him late for math, which despite his earlier statement, is his least favorite class because the teacher hates his guts for no reason. Not to mention the nervous pit in his stomach that he woke up with Saturday afternoon. 

Mitch passes the time before Brownie picks him up, downloading more music for his phone so he won't be stuck listening to whatever shit Connor has on the two and half hour drive and charging his multiple camera batteries plus the back ups. By the time seven o'clock rolls around, he's standing on the sidewalk in front of his house, backpack full of clothes on his back, a hat pulled down low over his eyes. 

The drive over is the longest, most stressful car ride he's ever been apart of. Instead of listening to music and enjoying the silence like a normal person, Brownie wanted to talk about Auston. A person he wasn't even supposed to be thinking about tonight. 

Mitch has never really been a big water person, but he was ready to run out onto the sand and drop to his knees to kiss the ground when Brownie finally parked his car. 

When he tells Brownie as much, he gets a chuckle in return. “You're such a asshole.”

“Nah, just excited to get drunk.”

“That's what happens when you go from partying every weekend to a fucking shut in, you become a douchebag who ignores his awesome friends.” 

“Still ignoring them to hang out with you.”

Brownie laughs beside him, shoving him out of the car. “Fuck you, man.” 

Hours later, Mitch is pleasantly wasted, stretched out on some fallen log in front of a crackling bonfire. He's been steadily drinking whiskey since they got here, mostly to get drunk as fast as possible, he's been looking forward to the special kind of oblivion that comes with being plastered all day. He can feel the flush on his cheeks from the alcohol, knows that his nose is probably bright red. 

The girl to the left of him is from a town an hour away and wants to be a photographer. Mitch can tell that she's flirting with him. The way she keeps touching him, blinking at him in a way she probably thinks is sexy but looks like she has something in her eye to him. Or maybe he's just a drunk asshole and she's just cold and the smoke from the fire is making her eyes water, either way she's sweet, smart, and for the first time Mitch wishes that he was more into girls. 

They're deep in a conversation about about digital versus film when Brownie crashes down next to him in a flurry of limbs.

“Dude, I swear I didn't think he was coming.” he says in a rush, already starting to apologize. 

It takes Mitch a minute to realize what he's talking about, head hazy. When it finally clicks in his brain, he can feel his body involuntarily start searching the beach for the familiar body. It only takes seconds for his eyes zero in on the person he was looking for. 

He can feel his stomach dropping, his heartbeat raising until it's a steady pounding in his head, almost like a nasty hangover headache. The girl seems to catch onto the mood and follows their eyes. 

“Ex?” she asks, voice light, patting his thigh comfortingly.

He says no at the same time Brownie answers yes. She laughs softly and nods like she gets it, but Mitch is too busy glaring daggers at the fucker next to him to commiserate over jerks. 

“I'm gonna go talk to that guy who's been staring at me for the past fifteen minutes, good luck with your guy.” she says as she stands up, brushing dirt off her jeans. 

Mitch wants to yell that Auston isn't “his guy” as she's walking away but that would definitely draw attention to him so he just nods his head and goes back to staring at Auston’s back across the way. 

“What the fuck is he doing here?” he knows his voice is too hostile for a situation Connor had no control over, but seeing Auston laughing and having fun when he's spent the past few weeks being miserable without him makes him feel like he's gonna throw up all that precious alcohol. 

“I don't know. I don't even know how long he's been here. I was talking to chick and then I saw him and I immediately came over here.” he sounds like he's giving an albi, like Mitch is gonna lose it on him if he doesn't answer the question to his liking. 

“I hate him.” Mitch breathes out, dropping his head into his hands, fingers tangling painfully in his hair. 

He can hear Brownie snort beside him. “You wish you did.” 

Both of them fall silent for a few moments, Mitch trying to regulate his breathing and calm his rapidly beating heart. He's almost calm enough to finally reply when he hears the sharp intake of breath, followed by a mumbled “oh fuck.”

He jerks his head up, eyes instantly finding Auston again. He expects to see him looking back at them, but instead he gets a perfect view of Auston reaching down to tuck a strand of hair out of someone’s face before leaning down to kiss them. 

Everything but the scene unfolding in front of him blurs out, loud happy voices becoming barely audible. Mitch's body starts moving forward on its own volition. His limbs feels slower, not even sure he's actually moving except for the annoyingly insistent hand that keeps trying to pull him back. Shaking the hand off feels like it takes forever, but it's probably only seconds. Every single step towards him feels heavier, like he's got cement shoes on and Auston is the pier he's quickly approaching the end of. 

When Mitch finally makes it over, Auston startles, doing a double take when he sees him standing there. He's holding a recently opened beer, wearing a thin white v neck shirt that you can almost see through and cut off blue jeans that Mitch knows for a fact used to be his favorite pair until the holes in the knees grew so big the bottom half had to be cut off. 

The person, who Mitch can now see is some young girl he's never seen before, blushes and quickly says goodbye to Auston before running off.

Auston reaches forward with his empty hand like he's gonna touch him or something equally ridiculous, but he quickly steps out of reach. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” he's probably shouting, loud enough for the people standing around them to look over in interest. He's definitely glaring. 

Auston opens and closes his mouth a few times, before nodding his head further down the beach.  
“Please?” he asks quietly. Mitch almost can't hear it over the pounding in his head, the tornado tearing its way through his stomach. 

He wordlessly follows him down the beach, far enough away that he can yell as loud as he wants and no one will be able to eavesdrop. He feels hopeless for a moment, standing there. He's never been good at fighting, especially with him. Mitch knew he was in trouble the first time they had a semi serious fight and all Auston had to do was look at him a certain way and he instantly forgot everything but wanting to kiss him breathless. 

This is the closest he's been to him since the date, since that stupid bench where he felt like he had the whole world before it came crashing down. Auston looks like shit, like hasn't slept in weeks, his bottom lip and fingernails bitten raw. All Mitch wants to do is grab him and kiss him. Maybe call him an idiot a few thousand times. 

“Why?” he finally questions, hating the way his voice shakes. The slight hitch that makes it sounds like he's going to cry. He isn't. He won't. He refuses. 

“Because I'm an asshole?” Auston replies quietly, an inside joke they've repeated a hundred times, an easy sorry for all the times they’ve annoyed each other. He sounds like he's trying to lighten the mood after one of their dumb meaningless arguments, like he never pulled his disappearing act. 

“Cut the shit, Auston. I thought we were friends.”

“We are friends.”

“If we were really friends, you'd fucking care about me. You wouldn't have pretended I didn't exist for weeks!” he snaps, tilting his head back to try and stop the tears he feels coming on.

“I care about you-” Auston mumbles out, but Mitch cuts him off with a hoarse laugh. “Wow, what a shitty way of showing you care.” 

“I'm serious. I care about you more than anyone else.”

“If you care about me then what the fuck was that back there? You don't even give an explanation for ghosting on me and then you kiss someone else? What the fuck, Auston!” Mitch exclaims, running his hands through his hair in frustration. 

“I didn't kiss her like that-” 

Mitch snorts in disbelief. 

“No, I'm serious. It may have looked like that from where you were standing but you can go and ask, I kissed her cheek, that's it. She's some kid my sister’s friends with who has a crush on me and I was just trying not to be a dick for a minute.” 

Mitch can tell he's telling the truth just by the way his voice changes, the earnest face he makes. Part of him hates that he knows these things about Auston, that he paid so close attention to him that he knows him almost as well as himself. 

“You really expect me to believe that?”

“Yeah, I do. I've never lied to you, Mitch. You know that.” 

“No, you never lie. Just ignore my existence. I think I'd rather you lie to me.”

“I'm sorry.” Auston mumbles, looking down to nervously peel the label on his beer.

“Do I get my explanation now? Just tell me you don't want me like that and we'll go back to being friends.” Even though they won't. Can't. Mitch is too far gone to forget what it's like not to be in love with Auston Matthews.

“Don't be stupid.”

Mitch scoffs at that and turns to walk away, but Auston quickly reaches out to stop him, walking around to stand in front of him again. 

“I was scared.”

“Of what? You knew I liked you so you couldn't be scared of unrequited feelings or some shit like that.”

Auston stands there silently for the longest minutes of Mitch's life, before taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out. 

“Mitch, I'm fucking in love with you.” he draws it out, enunciating like he wants to make sure Mitch gets it the first time, like he wants to make sure he doesn't have to say it again. Mitch isn't sure why that statement causes all the pent up anger to come flying back, considering he's had actual dreams about those words being said to him by this boy, but suddenly he's so pissed off he can't even think straight. 

“Yeah? You're in love with me? Well join the fucking club, asshole! I've been crazy over you since you walked in that stupid fucking door, wearing those stupid fucking jeans you love so much even though they're more holes than actual pants. Since the first time you smiled at me from across the room when I was being a smartass to Mr. Jefferson. Since the first word you ever spoke to me. Thanks for finally catching the fuck up!” he shouts, voice rising steadily. 

He cracks on the last sentence. He feels lightheaded from the booze he had earlier, his own voice starting to give him a headache, or maybe it's this whole situation in general. Either way he's probably gonna have the worst hangover of his life tomorrow. 

Auston isn't even trying to hide the smile on his face, full on beaming at Mitch, like he’s not even being yelled at. He's never learned how to resist that smile and to be honest, he's not really sure he wants to. 

“Just because I love you and shit doesn't mean you're off the hook, alright? I'm still pissed at you.” Mitch says, sighing. 

“I know. I'll make it up to you. Promise.”

“I can't believe you're making me scream this shit at you on a deserted beach at night like some romantic drama. You can never call me dramatic again.” Mitch jokes quietly, he can feel his own small smile trying to break free.

“You are dramatic though, it's one of the reasons I love you.”

“Now it just needs to start pouring rain so you can kiss me. And I can scream about sending you letters or something.” Mitch replies, fidgeting with his shirt. The tornado from earlier has turned into a swarm of butterflies fluttering around his stomach, a violent storm giving away to a perfect summer.

Auston looks at him, confused, but shakes it off and steps closer to Mitch cautiously, waiting for him to react negatively like before. He holds as still as possible until Auston is toe to toe with him, loving the way the almost full moon reflects off Auston's scruffy face, how it turns his eyes almost black. 

“I think I can make it work without the rain.” he whispers, leaning into Mitch's space.

When he doesn't finish closing the distance between them, Mitch realizes that he's waiting for him to do it. He lifts a shaky hand to caress the back of Auston's neck, pulling him the last few inches. 

This time their mouths slot together perfectly, no awkward angle there to work around. He thought their first kiss was the best kiss of his life, but this one is quickly rewriting that fact. Auston wraps his left arm around his waist and pulls him tighter against his body, the slight change causing him to have to rise up on his toes. Mitch still has the one hand around his neck, bringing his other hand up to bury it in the fluffy hair and pull his lips closer. 

Mitch is so lost in the kiss, the feel of the tongue teasing his mouth open, the scrap against his face and palm from slight stubble, that he doesn't even notice Auston bringing his other up arm to tip his forgotten beer all over them. 

The first shock of cold wetness is enough to startle him out of the kiss, but Auston just gently pulls him back and kisses him deeply again. He gladly ignores the rest of the liquid falling down over them, coating their heads and shoulders. 

The taste of beer bleeds into the kiss, causing Mitch to moan into Auston's mouth at the mixed flavors. He finally manages to pull back slightly, his heavy breaths getting caught in his throat when he sees Auston with his hair plastered down his face, rivulets of beer dripping down from his hair. 

“You wanted rain. It was the best I could do on short notice.” Auston mumbles against his lips, softly worrying his teeth on Mitch's swollen bottom lip. 

“Gonna regret that in the morning.” he breaths out, wrapping both arms fully around Auston's shoulders to get closer. 

“I'd never regret anything with you.” 

Mitch had to stop and rest their foreheads together for a minute, his heart feeling like it's gonna burst from overwhelming happiness. 

“I love you so much.” he breaths quietly into Auston's neck, gently sucking a mark into the skin there. 

Auston turns his head to the side as much as he can, pressing a kiss to the side of his head, more noise than anything else. He grabs at Mitch's thighs with both hands and tugs up until Mitch finally realizes what he wants, lifting up to wrap his legs around Auston's waist. 

From this position, Auston has to tilt his head back to make eye contact with him. “How drunk are you?” 

And he sounds nervous, almost scared by what the answer might be. 

“Not as drunk as I was earlier. Still pretty wasted, though.”

The way Auston's face falls when he says that makes his heart seize up, stuttering out uneven beats. 

“Not drunk enough that I won't remember this. I promise.”

Auston nods, giving him a slight reassuring smile. “We should probably get some water in you, anyway.”

“Piggyback ride back to the party?” he smiles hopefully. 

Auston rolls his eyes, but let's Mitch's thighs drop until he's standing in his own again. “I guess.”

In that moment, Auston carrying Mitch on his back down the beach, Mitch's legs wrapped his waist, his arms around his neck, face nestled close against Auston's, it's almost like those horrible weeks never happened. Like the rolling waves washed up high on the beach and pulled all the heartache far into the water. 

-

Auston carries him all the way back to the party, the beer on their skin becoming tacky with sweat from being plastered together. Mitch directs Auston to where he was sitting, hoping that no one swiped his whiskey while he was gone. 

Mitch is about to drop to the ground when he hears a yell from behind him before both him and Auston are tackled to the sand. He panics for a second, getting ready to swing around and punch the asshole but instead he finds a very drunk, very smiley, Brownie half on top of them. 

Auston grunts below him, considering he's taking most of the weight. “Get the fuck off me.”

Brownie laughs, grabbing Mitch around the waist and rolling them until they're laying next to Auston, limbs tangled together. Mitch can't help but laugh at the elation on his cuddly friend's face. 

“Fucking Christ, you're wasted.”

He laughs again. “I got bored waiting for your dumbasses so I finished off your whiskey.” All his words slide together in a mess of syllables but Mitch has spent enough time around drunk people to translate it into normal, human English.

“Dude, what the fuck? That was good shit.” Mitch exclaims, rolling so he can loom over Brownie. 

He hears Auston finally moving around behind him. Mitch twists around to watch him use the wood next to them to stand, and brush off his shorts. “Where you going?”

“Get us some drinks,” he replies, and then walks away. 

He turns back around to find Brownie zoned out, staring at some chick’s ass. “Classy.” Mitch snorts, smacking him on the stomach. 

Connor looks over and smiles, shrugging his shoulders. “Hey, you guys can sleep in my truck bed.” 

“Where are you gonna sleep?”

He turns his head back toward the girl he was watching earlier and Mitch nods in understanding. “Good luck, dude.”

Brownie laughs, stumbling to stand up. “Already got it in the bag, man.” He starts to walk away but quickly spins around, almost knocking himself off balance, and tosses his keys at Mitch. “See you losers in the morning, try not to get come in my truck.”

Mitch opens his mouth to quickly protest but all that comes out are noises he'll never admit he made, ever. Luckily Brownie has already left him sitting in the sand, alone. 

Mitch spends the rest of the night and early morning getting completely shitfaced with Auston, alternating between messily making out and playing stupid drinking games with random people who are brave enough to sit next to them. 

He feels light and happy for the first time since Auston dropped him off after their date. Every time Auston smiles at him, leans over to kiss him when he's mid sentence, he understands why people do stupid shit to keep holding onto love. Mitch would set himself on fire, jump off a cliff, anything, to keep this. 

He's fucked, _fucked_ , _**fucked**_.

-

The first thing Mitch feels when he wakes up is a stabbing pain behind his eyes and the obnoxiously painful mid morning sun bearing down on his face. His tongue feels like it’s coated in fur, gritty sand in his hair. He can hear Auston snoring lightly behind him, has one of his arms wrapped tightly around Mitch's waist. 

And Mitch loves him, really, _really_ fucking _loves_ him. It almost dulls the throbbing pain in his head, the euphoria of last night not being one of those shitty dreams he kept having when they weren't talking. 

He slowly rolls over to face Auston, partly because if he moves too fast he might puke and his hangover is a bitch, but also because he doesn't want to wake him up yet.

Which, that right there, should prove to everyone how in love with this idiot he is.

He doesn’t know how long he watches Auston before he grunts and pulls Mitch closer to his chest, snuggling his face in the nook between Mitch’s neck and shoulder. “Why do you always watch me?” Auston asks, voice like gravel. There’s a slight undercurrent of shyness layered inside and it makes him smile.

“Gotta make up for lost time.” 

He tries to make it light, tries not to let the hurt and uncertainty from the past week bleed into his response, he was serious about what he said last night, about still being pissed off. He knows they need to talk about more, that letting it fester is going to be worse than just opening his mouth and speaking those words _I don't know if I trust you like I used too_ or _what if you do that again? You can't do that to me again. Please don't do that to me again._

But it’s hard to remember that when he hasn’t stopped smiling since he woke up, even with the pounding headache, the skunky smell of morning breath laced with day old booze, and the acidic smell of the beer Auston poured over them last night. 

Auston makes a plaintive sound against his neck and pulls back to kiss Mitch. It's one of the best and worst kisses he's ever had at the same time. They could probably win a middle school science fair with the shit growing in mouths, both of their lips chapped and rough. 

Auston is the first to break the kiss, leaning up to press a kiss to Mitch’s forehead. 

Mitch never says the words. 

-

(The first four weeks that they’re Officially Together, Mitch feels like he’s floating on cloud nine. 

Auston holding his hand, kissing him against their respective lockers, their friends giving them shit for not being able to keep their hands off each other. Auston calling him his boyfriend to his family, calling him every night and saying shit like, “just wanted to hear your voice before I go to sleep”. 

He only really thinks about their unresolved problem in the short lived moments where he’s standing alone in a corner, five beers in, until Auston walks up to him with more beers in hand, bright smile stretched over his face. Or at 2 A.M. on school nights when he’s alone in bed and can’t sleep because he can’t get away with sneaking Auston in every night. 

The thing is, or maybe even _another_ problem they have, is that Mitch feels like he’s making everything a bigger deal than it actually is. Like, maybe Mitch is the only one with problems, because Auston seems perfectly happy, and so does everyone else that was involved in the awkward, horrible weeks Mitch really tries not to think about. 

He never asked for this. In fact, he explicitly remembers asking the universe for the exact opposite of this. But _fuck_ , does he want it so bad his head spins.

It should be perfect, _it is_ perfect. Really. It is perfect. 

Except for the fact that he spends every waking moment waiting for the other shoe to drop. Because it will. He knows it will.)

-

Wednesday evening Mitch ducks out to his smoke spot to find Auston waiting for him, propped up against the brick wall, board under foot, head tilted towards the night sky. The giant blue neon **_5th. Ave Rentals! DVDs and more!_** sign from the parking lot making his face look sharper, electric blue shading the edges. 

Mitch is already plucking his cigarette from behind his ear, lighter click-click-clicking. Nicotine rush always feels ten times better after dealing with jackass customers. There's a special place in hell for preteens who come into video stores just to rearrange the dvds and try to steal candy from the bins by the register.

“How long have you been out here?” he asks, exhaling into the cool air.

Auston straightens up, ditches his board against the wall and crowds Mitch up against the cool brick. “Not very, you looked busy.” He nods his head toward the metal door with the peeling ‘employees only’ sticker.

Mitch rolls his eyes and takes another drag, leans more of his weight into the warmth of his boyfriend’s body. “Fucking dumbass kids.” 

Auston laughs and pulls the cigarette from his lips, ducking down to brush a gentle kiss against them at the same time. Before he even opens his eyes, the cigarette is back between his lips. Auston hands end up in his hair, fingers lightly tugging on the strands that are longer along his neck, while he smokes. 

“So I was thinking,” Auston starts, there's a beat of silence as Mitch grinds his cigarette against the wall behind them. 

“Thinking? You? Sounds dangerous.” Mitch replies, the fond smile he always has around Auston in full effect.

“God you're dumb.” 

“But you're smiling.” Mitch says, leaning up on toes to kiss Auston, hard pecking kisses that make his lips feel like they're buzzing.

“Stop distracting me.”

“Okay, okay, what were you thinking?”

“We should go out tomorrow night. Dinner or something.”

Mitch's stomach quickly falls to his feet, his heart jumping to his throat. He puts all of his effort into keeping the smile on his face. He wishes he could just get the fuck over himself and just enjoy this, enjoy them. He really hopes that the word “date” won't forever make him sick to his stomach. 

“Sure. Sounds great.”

Auston picks him up from his house the next day at seven thirty in his Mom's car and as he's sliding in the passenger seat, he experiences the most fucked up deja vu. Like a bad case of whiplash in his brain. The moment Auston dropped him off last time, a quiet, reserved kiss goodnight but no warning signs that he was just gonna up and disappear. Auston's smiling in the driver's seat though, looking so fucking happy that Mitch can't help but smile back.

“You ready for the best date of your life?”

“That's gonna be really hard to top, I mean remember the last one? Fucking truly the definition of swept off my feet.” 

“Shut up, asshole. You said I could have a do over.”

“Well, you know what they say. Third time's the charm.” 

There's a long pause before Auston says, confused, “This is only the second.” 

“I know.” 

“Such a fucking dick.” 

They end up at a semi decent restaurant that serves comfort food and they both get bacon cheeseburgers. Mitch gets his with onion rings, and Auston gets special order hash browns, like the weirdo that he is. They decide to share a chocolate malt, two straws please, because if they're gonna do this, might as well do it right. 

When the food and malt arrives, Mitch leans forward and takes a sip of the thick chocolatey goodness. “I'm pretty sure this is the part where I stare you dreamily and twirl my hair around one finger while I think about our future children.” 

Auston snorts a laugh, burger already halfway to his mouth. “No, I'm pretty sure this is the part where you shut up and eat.” 

“Not a kids guy, eh? Fine, while I think about blowing you in the parking lot.” 

Auston coughs, choking on hash browns and ketchup. 

“You do that purpose, don't you?” 

“Do what?”

He jerks his head to the booth directly behind Mitch and he turns to find two old ladies glaring daggers at him like Mitch got under the table and whipped out Auston's dick in public or something. 

Mitch winks at the one closest to him with the short curls that makes her look a young Nick Jonas. “You wanna watch?” 

The only answer he gets is a shocked, disgusted gasp and Auston groaning like he's being murdered behind him. “This better be the best date ever because it's the last fucking one I'm ever taking you on.”

“Don't say fuck Auston, there's classy ladies behind us.”

“I hate you.” Auston says from around his straw, looking as unimpressed as you can get while drinking chocolate ice cream. 

“Love you too, babe.”

Mitch realizes much later, as Auston is driving him home from their not so quick detour to the ice cream parlor and then the park where they made out on a bench, though this time with a _much_ happier ending, that this is actually the best date he's ever been on. And instead of that filling him with light happy feelings, it settles like stone in the pit of his stomach.

That night, hours after they said goodbye in the car, he's laying in bed half listening to Auston talk quietly on the phone and he's happy. So fucking happy. 

But the thing is, the higher you are, the worse it is when you inevitably fall. 

-

(Things about being in love, a list by Mitch Marner: 

  1. It's never as easy as it looks. Sometimes it feels like you're giving too much of yourself away to something fleeting. Sometimes the hurt outweighs the good.
  2. It can also be the most amazing, most exhilarating, most terrifying thing to experience. A roller coaster you never want to get off. But the growing pit in your stomach will force you to eventually. 
  3. Just because you've forgiven something doesn't mean you'll ever forget it. It will keep you up at night and eat away at you, until you can't keep the doubt at bay.
  4. Knowing they love you isn't always enough. )



-

They're at a party in the ‘burbs that some kid who knows Brownie is throwing three weeks after their second date and Mitch knows it's gonna be one of _those_ nights when he realizes he's piss drunk at 12 AM. Everyone else around him at the party is clearly having a good time and heading for that direction, but he's passed go and collected two hundred dollars multiple times by now. 

Auston’s shooting him these glances, like seeing Mitch sloppy is out of character or something. Which, maybe it is for him, because the last time this happened was the last night he spent with Bryce. Mitch usually knows the beauty of moderation and no hangovers.

He keeps crowding him, stealing the bottle from him like Mitch is so drunk he won't even notice when the whiskey bottle isn't his hand. He definitely does notice. 

The point is, his boyfriend’s clearly worried, and instead of that making Mitch slow down, it just makes him dodge the grabbing hands, drink quicker.

By 2 AM he's stumbling towards the backyard, even more drunk than he was before, half heartedly trying to find a lighter with uncoordinated hands when he feels big gentle hands settle around his waist, a quick kiss pressed against the side of his head. 

“What the fuck is going on with you?” The voice sounds teasing, but even in the sludge of Mitch's drunk ass brain, he can hear the apprehensiveness.

Mitch shrugs him off. “Nothing, man.”

He tries to continue outside but trips over leftover cardboard from a case of beer. The hands are instantly back again, supporting him. 

“Why don't you just do something you're good at and fuck off, Auston. I'm tired of your bullshit.” He jerks out of Auston's hold, almost falling on his ass on the deck before he catches himself. He knows he's being louder than necessary, only the beginnings of a party happening just beyond the wide open screen door but in that moment, every single doubt and worry he's ever had about them comes pouring out in white hot anger. “It's fucking exhausting, playing pretend with you.” 

Mitch storms through the house, not giving a shit about the people who are staring at him, the boys calling his name. He spills outside onto the front yard, he makes it to the end of the driveway before he trips over a stray beer bottle left over from the recycling bin and falls to his hands and knees. His head feels like a fucking tilt a whirl at a carnival but he doesn't actually feel sick, so he thinks he might actually be able to drag himself up off the ground and home.

The hands are back, rubbing soothing motions along his back, gently pulling him back to his feet and supporting his weight. Mitch doesn't realize he's crying until he feels Auston's fingers brushing the fallen tears from his cheeks. “ _Fuck_ , Mitch.”

The crying turns into body wracking sobs, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry” falling from his lips, blending together until it's all just a mess of choked off words and shuddering breaths. Auston keeps shushing him, telling him it's all okay, he's perfect, _let's get you home_. 

Mitch doesn't really remember moving from the garbage cans outside that kid’s house to his front porch, but they obviously did because now Auston is propping him up against the wall while he unlocks the door with keys he must have had to dig for in Mitch's pockets. 

Then there's his bed, and Auston's hands brushing through his hair again, against his face.

The last thing he hears before he slips into oblivion is:

“We need to talk tomorrow.” 

-

The sun is high in the sky when Mitch's startled awake, still _slightly_ drunk from the night before. Last night’s clothes are flung haphazardly around the room, his phone lighting up in the ashtray he made out of a halved beer can on his bedside table. The time reads 2:28 PM and he hopes he'll have enough time to down a bottle of aspirin before he has to have the conversation with Auston. He might actually manage to move straight past the hangover headache and into the I'm-a-fucking-idiot headache. 

> **Auston, 12:26 PM:** let me know when you wanna meet.  
>  **Mitch, 2:30 PM:** just woke up. 30 mins, diner on 7th?  
>  **Auston, 2:30 PM:** sure. 

No matter how many moments he has like this, where he promises he'll never drink again, he knows it's all bullshit. No matter how much of an ass he makes out of himself, no matter how many times he wakes up with black holes in his mind where memories should be. He's never been one for lying to himself. But just remembering the gutted look on Auston’s face makes him feel sick, and makes him think, _Maybe this time_.

By the time he drags his ass out of bed, takes a handful of Advil, stumbles into the shower, and finds semi clean clothes twenty minutes have already gone by. He has to run the four kilometers to the diner. 

Auston is already sitting in a booth towards the back, two drinks in front of him, picking apart his straw wrapper. He keeps glancing at the door and then forcibly looking away. He looks tired, his hair is a mess all over his head, likes his fingers have been running through it. Still so attractive that it makes Mitch's stomach flip. 

When Mitch slides in the booth opposite him, he can finally see his eyes. And they look so fucking sad but also guarded. Like he's already protecting himself from the inevitable.

“Hey.” Auston greets, voice is so quiet in the noise of the diner that Mitch has to strain to hear. “Got you a coke, had to hold the Jack. Sorry.”

Mitch's laugh falls flat on it's face. “I'm sorry, what I said last night-” he begins, as Auston slides his drink over. “I was drunk, I didn't mean any of it.”

“Then why did you say it?” 

“Because I'm an asshole?” They really need new fucking jokes.

Auston's smile doesn't reach his eyes. 

“Why didn't you stay with me?”

“I didn't think you wanted me too.”

“Of course, I did. Do. I always want you with me.” 

Conversation between them dies off, the first awkward silence they've had, like, ever. And it's fucking terrible. Voices subdued when they order appetizers. Mitch doesn't think either one of them can stomach food right now. 

“I didn't mean to disappear on you, or hurt you in anyway.” He's not expecting Auston to talk, so it startles him. 

“Then why-” he pauses, torn between wanting to know and not. “I, I just don't get it.”

The silence is back, this time bringing nerves along with it. He spills the plastic container holding the sugar packets over and fiddles around with them for something to do with his hands. He wishes they were outside, so he could fucking smoke. He'd kill for a cigarette right now.

“You have to understand that I've never felt like this about anyone ever before. Like I didn't even know if I could.” Auston lets out a frustrated sigh, hands tugging at his hair for a split second before he continues. “I've never even had a crush before, Mitch, and suddenly here I am, helplessly in love with my best friend who might as well have ‘damaged goods’ stamped across his fucking forehead.”

Mitch's answering laugh sounds hollow, feels like broken glass working it's way through his throat. 

“That's not fucking fair, Auston.”

“Fuck, I know, I just,” He keeps breaking off sentences, his eyes are pleading with Mitch to just understand, but Mitch doesn't, not yet anyway. “I just couldn't handle the possibility that you might not feel the same,” 

“You'd have to be fucking blind-”

“No, I knew you liked me but what if you just wanted to fuck around? What if you didn't love me? I know it's selfish or whatever to want it all or nothing, but I couldn't handle the thought that I might just be something you'd move on from in a few months, the stupid kid you remember fondly while you're away at college, getting drunk at parties while I'm here, thinking about you.”

Mitch swallows thickly, eyes prickly. This would be so much fucking easier with a bottle of Jack. Fuck, maybe ten bottles. Just drown him in a fucking pool like that Kendrick Lamar song.

He abandons his booth to scoot in against Auston, and he never thought he'd be someone who purposely shared one side of their otherwise empty table, but here he is. Auston still isn't making eye contact, fingers pushing around the sugar that spilled out of the packets Mitch accidentally ripped with too much fidgeting. 

“Hey, look at me.” His voice is quiet, calming, coaxing. He never knew he could sound like that. 

When Auston finally meets his eyes, they're filled with the most uncertain expression Mitch has ever seen, such a juxtaposition with Auston’s usual quietly confident demeanor. For ten seconds he hates himself a little bit for taking that confidence away. 

“I love you so much and I'm so fucking sorry.” Mitch says, in the same quiet tone. “Since you walked in that room on your first day, I've been gone for you, which means I've technically loved you longer than you have me, so how's that for casual.”

Auston smiles, it's small, but it's an actual smile for the first time since they've started talking. “You're not allowed the get drunk and be a fucking dick to me, okay? No matter how upset you are with me.” 

Mitch is nodding before he even finishes. “Never again, I promise.” 

“And if you ever feel uncertain about my feelings or whatever, just talk to me. Don’t just fuck off and ignore me.” Mitch adds. Auston briefly looks down again, but he nods. “We're best friends, first, you know?” 

When Auston looks up again, he has this look in his eyes, so focused and intense. It's probably one of his favorite looks because it means he's going to be kissed soon. 

“I'm gonna kiss you now, okay? For real.” Auston says quietly. 

Mitch doesn't even wait for Auston to lean in, just grabs the back of his neck before he's even finished speaking and pulls him into a deep kiss. The second their lips meet, Auston groans against his mouth and he can't help the smile that breaks out over his face. Auston makes an annoyed sound, trying to continue the kiss around the smile. 

Mitch finally gets his face under control and loses himself in the wet slide of their mouths. Auston's tongue brushing over the seam of his lips, pushing inside. The kiss is definitely way too heated, too heavy while in a public diner in broad daylight but Mitch couldn't give a fuck if he tried. As long as Auston keeps kissing him like this, fuck higher thinking. 

They're startled by the waitress setting down their plates, the clinking on the table resetting his brain and the rest of the noisy diner floods his senses. Auston clears his throat, and briefly meets her eyes over Mitch's head. 

“Can I get some hash browns?” The startled laugh is pulled from Mitch, so fucking _happy_ that he gets this, he decides right there while the waitress smiles her perfect smile, and nods, like she doesn't hate her fucking job with a passion, that he's never gonna let Auston go. 

“You're such a fucking freak.” Mitch says fondly.

“Yeah, but you love me.” And he didn't realize how much he missed that happy, carefree tone Auston usually has until he hears it again. 

He buries his face in Auston's neck and smiles. “Yeah, I do.”

-

**Epilogue**

They're laying in the grass, a shitty park in New York that's halfway between both of their campuses, he googled all kinds of dumb shit like that when he found out that Auston got accepted. 

“How was your first class, college boy?” Mitch asks around his cigarette. He looks over at Auston, whose head is tilted back in the grass, eyes shut. The sun is shining down on him, his skin is glowing. He's so fucking beautiful, and Mitch loves him so fucking much. 

Auston opens his eyes and looks over at him. “Fine. Just a bunch of talking and handouts and shit.”

“Auston Matthews, English major.” he laughs, a full bodied laugh that ends with him coughing when he inhales cigarette smoke wrong.

Auston rolls his eyes and slugs him not so lightly on the shoulder. The smile on his face betraying his true feelings. “Shut up, jackass.” 

He remembers the night that Auston told everyone what his plans were for the future, the group sat crowded around the shitty couch in Zach’s basement, Mitch in Auston's lap, passing around a bottle back and forth. Mitch had just arrived home for a short break that morning. 

They all booed and laughed at them when Auston said he was trying to get into the same school as Mitch, “Aren't you tired of each other yet?” followed by “That's why you ditched us losers for all those smart people classes.”

Mitch and their families are the only ones who knows about the English major thing, though. He was bound by fear of death from telling any of the guys back home, they’d never let Auston hear the end of it if they did. 

Mitch is pulled from his memories by Auston moving up and leaning over Mitch, forearm coming to rest beside his head. The cigarette Mitch was smoking is burnt down to the butt. Auston's eyes look golden from the sun and Mitch can't help but lean up and kiss him. Auston hums appreciatively against his lips. 

“I love you.” He’ll never get tired of saying those words, never get tired of hearing them back, either. 

“I love you too, even if you are an asshole.” 

“No, pretty sure you love me because I am an asshole, not despite it.”

Auston dips down to bump their noses together, nuzzling him for a second. “Let's go get food, I didn't eat this morning.”

Mitch shakes his head but let's himself be pulled to his feet. “I found this hole in the wall a few blocks down my first year, they have good hash browns. There's even a store next door that sells Mucho Mango.” 

“Yeah?” And he sounds so fucking excited by the prospect of artificial fruit and crispy potato that Mitch can't help but laugh. 

“Yeah, babe.” 

He grabs Auston's hand and tugs him down the street. So fucking happy. 

**Author's Note:**

> So I really struggled with this fic (seriously it sat there for months and went through many drafts) so a huge thanks to everyone who helped me, no matter how small. I hope y’all enjoyed it. 
> 
> Title is a song by Turnover.
> 
> Kudos/comments appreciated, love hearing your thoughts and opinions!  
> (P.S. I miiiigghhtt be persuaded to write more fic in this verse)


End file.
